


A Moment To Be Me

by ididntdoit_blameitonthedragon



Series: Altean Bedtime Stories [3]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe – Modern Day, Anal Sex, Blowjobs, Bottom Lance, Clubbing, M/M, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Sex, Sexual Content, Top Keith, klance, lots of swearing, paramedic keith
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-09-25
Packaged: 2019-05-18 06:21:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14847428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ididntdoit_blameitonthedragon/pseuds/ididntdoit_blameitonthedragon
Summary: Keith decides to let off steam at the club. He’s horny too but the guys he likes the look of are either taken, or they’re complete dicks. That is, until Adrian calls up his friend, and Keith’s got someone to go home with.  Come morning however, and the stranger is not so much a stranger, as he is someone Keith knows very well.Currently on HIATUS whilst I finish other works





	1. A Virgin For A Nightcap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith decides to let off steam at the club. He’s horny too but the guys he likes the look of are either taken, or they’re complete dicks. That is, until Adrian calls up his friend, and Keith’s got someone to go home with. Come morning however, and the stranger is not so much a stranger, as he is someone Keith knows very well.

Blinding lights, pounding music and cheap whiskey are Keith’s best friends when it comes to Friday nights. It’s the fuzziness of the alcohol that he seeks, enough that he forgets he doesn't really know how to dance, that he's not usually one for being open and provocative with his body. Not when he’s sober at least, not even when he’s half asleep. 

But it’s the whiskey whispering in his ear that makes him say _‘fuck it’_ and he's happy with the guy grinding up against him, even if his style and tactless tactile nature leaves much to be desired. He's not a bad looker by Keith’s standards – inebriated or otherwise – and there’s the smell of cigarettes clinging to his clothes and his tongue, making Keith crave his own cancer-inducing smoke stick. 

But the boy is happy to let the alcohol numb the desire poking his brain so tonight he can just dance and let go. Still, it’s not enough to disguise the bad taste, the ghosting traces of weed present when they mash mouths, once, twice, _again,_ but this stranger is a decent enough kisser, and this is the second whiskey-on-the-rocks he’s bought for Keith, so the Mullet is willing to make a _few_ sacrifices. 

It’s true what they say: _Ignorance and all that makes life a whole lot easier._

Normally, these weren’t words Keith lived by; ignoring the cons in favour for the pros.   
Normally, a night like tonight would see Keith by the bar, downing drink after drink or piled on one of the sweat-and-alcohol-soaked sofas, or outside in the cold, smoking a stack while wishing he could up and quit so the notes in his wallet could go to more important things, like petrol and savings for an actual house.   
Of course, leave it to Keith to question his life choices when he’s busy searching for a one-night stand, because he finds that easier than dating and getting to know _“people,”_ who are too hard to figure out even when the lot of them are sober. 

Clubbing and drinking are the choice of distraction to mainstream reality, and at least each night leads him into bed with someone. He was planning to tease this other kid at the bar into leaving the club together, but then he wanted to drink and he wanted to dance and then all of a sudden, it’s someone else who is rubbing his dick all over Keith’s denim-clad ass. Not as much as a looker, but he’s got enough cash to keep the drinks coming so Keith was happy to swap dance partners. 

“Hah, knew you wanted me, the second I saw you,” the guy says into Keith's ear over the hum of the heavy bass as the music changes into a remix version of some popular radio song. “Huh?” And no, it’s not the whiskey that takes Keith’s vocabulary and leaves him with the basic grunts and noises of a caveman. 

“God, bet you’re a slut for it,” the other says, leaning in, tongue worming deep in Keith’s ear as he presses his fingers painfully into his hip to stop him from pulling too far away. 

Ah shit, he’s one of _them._

“Hey dude—”  
“You heard me,” he groans, grinding harder, probably thinking that Keith pulling away is just him playing hard to get. All true, except Keith’s not playing. The man’s got standards and this prick isn’t reaching any of them. 

Dick-face _(as he is now firmly known as in Keith’s mind)_ is not scoring here but he doesn't realise his dance-partner is no longer interested, now that he's showing his true colours as _twat-of-the-year._

Dick-face just keeps going. “Bet you're wet already. Dirty little whore just can't wait to ride me.” 

Keith tugs hard, and pulls himself out of the man's grip. He can't get very far considering the other bodies crowding the club dance floor. “I don't want it. Look thanks. For the drinks I mean, but I'm not after a bed partner,” he lies, the small space between them meaning Keith doesn’t have to shout.   
Dick-face doesn’t need to know Keith’s here for a one-night stand, especially now when he thinks he’s got a claim on Keith’s ass because they’ve been dancing together for a few songs and the man has filled up his glass twice.   
It’s not like Keith plays the game “drink and run” – he’d pay for his own drinks usually, but it’s not like he’ll go home with anyone, including Dick-face just because they seem to think Keith is a prostitute who takes alcohol as payment.  
The boy isn’t _that_ desperate to get some. 

The other isn't eager in accepting Keith’s bow-out, thinking that he’s still playing coy or something. He makes for another grab at Keith's arm, but the opportunity to catch him is lost when he’s scooped up by someone else. 

“Hey sweet cheeks, sorry I kept you waiting,” the blond says, planting a quick kiss on Keith's cheek, moving into the small space the surplus-of-bodies on the dance floor provides. With the escape route clear, Keith presses himself close to the newcomer, quick to hook his own arm around the taller’s waist, not bothering to hide the entertained grin at the look of confusion Dick-face wears. 

But as much as he is a dick, he’s also an idiot, because he’s making another grab for Keith’s wrist.   
It’s caught in the grip of Keith’s saviour. 

“Mate, thanks for saving my spot, but I’ve got it now. Enjoy your night.”   
Dick-face scowls, opening his mouth, but the Blond just gives his wrist an experimental squeeze, his grip a little too tight for comfortable. “I said _thanks._ Now piss off before I give you punishment for dancing with him.” He flexes what muscle stands visible through the thin material of his paint-splatter tank top, the warning loud and clear.  
It doesn’t take Dick-face too long to decide he doesn’t want his face rearranged to resemble a Picasso painting, and moves off to go find another piece of meat to grind up against. 

Keith is led away, all too happy to follow. “Thanks Adrian.”   
“No problem. Buy me a drink I'll considered the debt paid.”   
“Oh? And this is ignoring all the drinks I buy you every night we come out?”   
Adrian just shrugs, sliding first into a booth in a corner of the club. Rolo’s already sat there, nursing his own mixer, guarding two more while his face remains glued to the screen of his phone. At the return of Adrian and Keith, he puts it down, sliding their drinks over. 

The soft sofa and thick carpet of the booth soak up some of the thudding music; meaning the boys don't need to shout all that loud to hear one another. “Find anyone good looking?” Rolo asks, glancing back to the dance floor, eyeing up the chicks dancing near him, showing off tan lines underneath short skirts.   
“Only some Dick-face. Seemed decent enough, but the second he opened his mouth you could tell he found his IQ score on the bottom of a cereal box. What about you?” Rolo just grinned, flashing the back of the hand to the pair, showing off a string of numbers that were scribbled messily across his skin; a little heart signed at the end of it, instead of a name. “Finally got myself Nyma’s number. The little minx kept me waiting an entire month before she gave the thing up.”

Keith raised a disapproving eyebrow. “That’s a lot of effort just for a chance to see her naked. Dude, it would be quicker courting her neighbour and buying yourself a pair of binoculars.”  
“I thought about it, but Nyma’s neighbour is an eighty-year-old with five cats.”   
“Now that's where I know you're lying. Coran isn’t even forty yet, and he can be courted with moustache puns and tips on how to get his cars running smoother.”  
Of course, _that_ got Rolo’s attention. “What? How the hell do you know Nyma’s neighbour?” 

Keith answered with a grin and a shrug. “Connections. Buy me a drink and I'll tell you the details.” Rolo looks like he’s thinking about it, but it’s Adrian who stands first. He’s got his phone, the thing lighting up with _Private._ “I’ll get refills on my way back,” he says as he slips out. “Oli is here somewhere, so make sure you keep an eye out.”

Keith waves him off, his drink quickly snagged and downed, followed by the one Adrian has abandoned. Now, he’s just teasing Rolo, ignoring him as he starts whining about Keith not being fair about knowing Nyma’s neighbour and how he was “keeping the goods to himself.”

“Hey, hey,” Rolo whispers, leaning in as if someone could hear him over the thudding bass of the current over-played pop-song. “So, have you seen her naked?”   
Keith pulls a face. “Why would I even want to? She’s a _girl.”_

But before Rolo can tell Keith all the good things he’s missing out on when it comes to the female variety, Oliver is rushing the table, stumbling from his merriment. “Keef, Rango, hey how you doing!” He’s got two girls under each arm who are trying to keep him standing, but they quickly give up and shove him into the seats, falling about the place and giggling as Oliver pulls them both into his lap at once, keeping them there with plenty of kisses and whispers in their ears. 

“Seriously? Right in front of my salad?”   
Oliver is aware enough to flip Keith the bird. 

Instead of insulting the other more, Keith chooses to down his drink before it can be knocked over, watching the girls with restrained annoyance. He knows what’s going to happen, especially considering he hasn’t got Adrian here to buffer the chicks, and the fact that Rolo is their only other target – face once again glued to his phone, that weird thirsty look telling him Nyma’s just sent him some late-night nudes. Keith does _not_ want to see that, so he turns attention to Oli and his entourage. 

“Having fun?”   
Of course, talking gets the girls attention immediately. 

The one on the left, blonde chick, big tits, eyes Keith with a want he saw on Dick-face. “Oh, we _are,”_ she slurs, tongue loose from alcohol, slipping off of Oliver’s lap. He’s not bothered; he’s too busy kissing Ginger, hands in her hair and on her hips, eliciting giggles when fingers slip under the hem of her checked skirt and the snap of her lacey thong makes her shriek, mid-snog.

Blondie slides into the space next to Keith before he could shuffle over and block her off. Now she’s got her arms around one of his, pulling his bicep into her bosom that is all squishy and sweaty. “How about we have some fun of our own,” she says, Vodka masking the smell of expensive perfume. “And what did you have in mind?” Keith asks, bringing his empty glass to his lips to stop her from kissing him. She’d been eyeing his lips so he knows she wants to. 

“I’m sure you can guess.”   
“I’m sure I can.” 

Blondie pours herself all over Keith’s lap, but before she can get her hands on the buttons of his shirt, a hand reaches down to grab Keith’s chin and pull it back. He doesn’t fight it, feeling lips against his and the unmistakable taste of menthols coating the tongue that licks along his teeth, probing inside of his mouth. It mixes with the aftertaste of whiskey, which isn’t all that pleasant. 

When Keith can breathe again, he curses, “Adrian, you shit, you owe me a drink for that.”   
“And I got you one,” the older purrs, nodding towards four drinks now on the table; all bright blue with straws, crushed ice and mint leaves floating in the dangerous concoction. Keith eyed them up before taking one, but not before threatening to cut off Adrian’s dick if he tried that shit again.   
The other just shrugged himself into a corner seat, snatching Blondie for some hands-on fun that barely lasted five minutes before she and Ginger were up, off to buy their own drinks, promising “Oli” and “Addy” that they’ll be back. 

_“Addy?”_  
“Fuck off.”

* * *

* * *

Oliver’s boundless energy took the friends right up until two in the morning. They spent the night between the dance floor and their claimed booth, getting shit-faced with some younger kids who joined them at their table. Apparently, they were Blondie’s and Ginger’s friends, but Keith didn’t mind considering they kept the drinks coming and the tall dark-haired guy with the fake tan and sparkly silver piercings kept him entertained.   
But then they’re leaving, and Keith is still aching for a body, either in him or under, but it seems he’s out of luck tonight.   
It’s to Adrian and Oliver he complains too; the only ones still at the table capable of conversation, even after they’ve just chugged an entire pitcher of some purple drink that tastes too much like liquorice for Keith’s liking. 

“You mean to tell me you seriously haven't seen any other guy you want to pull other than Sparkles?” the tallest asked downing the rest of his glass as Rolo returns with a line of tequila shots. “There are but they’re already taken. It sucks,” he growled.   
Then, the icing on the cake, Keith spots Dick-face again. The lucky fucker has a chick under his arm and they're heading for the exit, each wearing a smug little grin as if they don’t realise their “gold” trophy isn’t what they think it is. Then again, maybe she’s a bitch too and they’re a match made in asshole-heaven. 

Adrian follows Keith’s gaze, wearing a knowing smirk. “Jealous?”   
“No, just pent up.”  
“Then I'll make a deal with you,” he says, waving his mobile under Keith’s nose. “I can get you some decent ass if you cover my taxi fare for tonight.” 

Keith eyes him, his lips already forming “no,” but Adrian just grins. “You’re horny and you came out tonight to get laid. I’m offering to help you.”   
“This is one of your _friends_ isn’t it?” Keith said warily, looking up from his whiskey he’s been sipping at, saving himself getting another glass at the over-crowded bar before they stop serving. “Sort of. It’s more like, he’s an acquaintance. Or, a friend-of-a-friend you could say. I haven’t slept with him, if that’s what you’re asking. Though, I really want to. The kids’ a fine piece of meat.”   
Keith attempted to glower but the face Oliver is wearing has got him laughing. “You mean you’ve got some nice booty and you haven’t shared with me? Ai, I’m jealous.” 

Adrian just passes Oliver another tequila shot to shut him up. “You’d break him Oli. I know you and your games. You’re one sick bastard.”  
“And you’re not?”   
They snigger to themselves, a fist bump between them, forgetting Keith who is sitting there, silent. He’s kind of surprised at himself, because he’s seriously considering Adrian’s offer. “Well? You interested?”

Oliver and Adrian seem to have the right idea in sex-friends for some casual booty-call, but Keith tried that once and his partner decided they wanted more. He doesn’t _do_ feelings. He’s found it’s better to keep friends and sexual partners in different groups to save any confusion of crossing of emotion.   
The fact that he has a rule about not sleeping with the same person twice helps keep the risk of attachment low. 

Adrian pulled out his phone, as if Keith had already given him the go ahead, but the Mullet was quick to put a hand over the screen. “Look I know what you said but—This isn’t going to be another one of your _‘friends’_ that wants to sleep with me, is it? Because you know I don’t sleep with people twice and I’m not looking for a relationship.”   
“No, I’m pretty sure you guys have never met. _Honestly,”_ he added when Keith narrowed his eyebrows with unspoken suspicion. 

Adrian doesn't waiver and it takes less than a second for Keith to make up his mind. He’s horny, he’s drunk - on the atmosphere and alcohol - and he’s actually a little bit desperate for a bed partner, not that he’ll admit it. 

The cravings for cigs are back again, but the craving in his pants takes precedent. “Alright you have a deal. But I get ass _tonight,_ or you're walking home.” 

The older’s eyes flashed with excitement. “Fine. You go buy drinks and I'll call up your date.” The word isn’t what Keith would use, but he’s all too happy to get another round for the table to pass the time. “He had better be a looker Ai,” but the idiot with the orange tips is already talking to someone on the other end of his mobile, the wolfish grin taking precedent over his drunken stupor.

Keith leaves him to it, returning ten minutes later. 

Rolo is gone, but his seat has already been filled by another: tan skin and longish, messy nest of hair similar to Keith’s mullet, but thinner and styled in such a way that his fringe covers a lot more of his face than seems comfortable. It’s like EmoTM went to Ibiza and got a tan and a personality, rather than sunburn and another reason to hate the Human race.   
He’s not muscled, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have them – he’s more like Tom Holland than Tom Hardy – but there’s something unfathomable that draws Keith in. 

The Mullet stands there, not sure if he wants to deck Adrian or by him another drink.   
His choice for Keith’s bed-partner is almost perfect to Keith’s type, which is irritating and comforting. But mainly irritating. 

The man has the same odd familiarity that many of Keith’s one-night-stands do, like the way a stranger reminds you of your best friend, or a memory of your best friend because maybe they have the same hair colour and maybe that shy smile is the same one he wears at the beginning of every apology, and maybe they speak similar… 

To Keith, he’s just another stranger whose name he doesn’t know. For all the recognition means, they could’ve simply talked at the bar a few times. 

Which brings back up the suspicion that Keith _has_ met this guy before and he’s someone who’s been bugging Adrian to help him slither into Keith’s bed. _Fucking Adrien._

Before the Mullet can confront his mate, Oliver intercepts. “Thank you, Keith. I’ll take these, while you two go and get better acquainted,” he says, taking the drinks as Adrian shoves the stranger towards Keith. He catches him before he can stumble, his “are you okay” deafened by the thudding music, already moving to the dance floor.

“You know the deal,” the Blond calls after the pair of them, his words edged with sharpness, eyes flashing between Keith and the stranger.   
Keith just rolls his eyes. The only time Adrian keeps an eye on money is when people owe him.   
When he owes them… Well, it’s an entirely different story. 

“Come on, I want to dance,” Keith says deciding he’s not going to make a massive fuss of handing over ten quid right now. Besides, that sounds like he’s just bought this guy for… the… _Wait,_ isn’t that _exactly_ what he’s just gone and done? 

_Ah fuck it._  
Keith’s already in need of another drink. 

But instead of hitting the bar like he really wants to, Keith continues with his afore-mentioned plan and pushes his way onto the dance floor with the stranger in tow, ignoring Oliver and Adrian’s teasing whoops. 

The man follows him willingly, looping fingers around Keith's wrist, much like a child would so he wouldn’t be separated from his mother in the busy holiday hustle-and-bustle. Mullet raises an eyebrow at the motion, looking between fingers and the boy’s gaze, only for it to be turned away. “Uh, sorry, I mean, if I made you uncomfortable,” he says shyly, a hand up to rub the back of his neck, shoulders up like he’s trying to enclose in on himself out of embarrassment. _Great, Adrian invited along a fucking virgin._

“No, it's cool,” Keith says, turning now that they’ve found a spot to dance in. “But I think here is better.”   
Keith pulls the man closer, leading his fingers to the bare of his skin, peeking between the short of his shirt and the hem of dark, skin-tight jeans. There’s a slight uncertainty, but then Keith grinds back against the stranger, pulling him even closer, so that they’re practically occupying the same space, and the uncertainty vanishes.   
“See? Better,” Keith coos, letting half his brain soak into the music, the rest of him relaxing into the idea that the kid pressed into him might need a little leading. I’ll be fresh compared to Keith’s usual hook ups, and the thought intrigues him. 

It isn’t long into the song before the stranger gains a little confidence, grinding up against Keith, following the rhythm of the music, swaying his hips, keeping their bodies pressed close.   
Okay, so maybe _not_ a virgin.

And, _holy fuck,_ the guy's got _moves._  
He’s definitely got a sense of the music too, all of sudden grinding and swaying to the beat as the music picks up its tempo. The second song starts and he gets a little bolder, pressing experimentally on Keith’s hips, allowing hands to roam under the hem of his shirt, letting his own fingers and hands explore as much as Keith is exploring him.   
From here, pressed into him, the guy doesn’t feel too bad. He hasn’t got too much of a stomach, chest hard from muscle underneath, but most of it is already on show. The clothes he wears, although flattering, don’t seem to be his. For a start, the shirt is too small. Wearing a crop-top would look better, and he’d still be showing less skin than that of the blue and pink tie-dye he’s climbed into. The too-small T-shirt contrasts sharply with the baggy cargo pants, but Keith’s not dancing with him for his quirky fashion sense. 

When Keith turns into him, he can get a glimpse of the ghost-like skin stretched over his thin hips, see the belt that is on its tightest setting to keep his trousers up, and it’s got him wondering _when was the last time this guy had a decent meal?_  
The kid isn’t like one of those Ken-doll wannabes that forgo eating for a tiny waist, if not, his long hair would be styled differently and he’d do something about his clothes. Posture too, because even as they dance, sway, rock, grind, he’s still slouching slightly, like as if he’s trying to make himself appear smaller than he actually is. 

Maybe he’s just really, _really_ shy. 

But maybe not. 

When the third song starts, he moves Keith back around again, grinding up against his ass, down his leg, the back so that the hard of his bulge sits nicely in Keith’s crease. Keith can’t think because he’s doing _something_ with his hips that turns Keith on in every way possible. He’s not aware he’s hard until suddenly his is and _oh god if he just—_  
Keith lays his head back into the crook of the man’s neck, lightly resting it on his shoulder and allows the man to move his body, their hips moving together, warmth on his neck as the boy leans in, inhales, tastes—

It’s all kinds of wonderful and when the something-song ends, they've been locked lips for long enough that Keith feels like he's going to pass out from lack of oxygen. He didn’t even know when they started kissing. 

Enough with the warm-up act, Keith is ready to quit the club and get down to something a little dirtier.   
“Want a drink?” he gasps when the boys finally pull apart for air. “Sure.” 

The stranger cards a hand through his fringe, giving Keith a glimpse of a little more of what's underneath and _yep he's staring again._ God, the guy would be ten times more attractive with a haircut and a dash of confidence, but it’s not like Keith’s complaining. It’s like he’s been given a pass-the-parcel, slowly pulling back layers of mystery to find this hottie underneath. 

They make their way to the bar but with no bar stools free, the two end up standing just a little to the side, near the window where it’s cold, which is a nice respite to the heat of sweaty bodies of the tightly-packed club. But away from the carpet and sweat-soaked sofas, it's noisy as hell and they're shouting at each other, just to be heard. 

_Oh, come on, enough already I want to get out of here already._

It’s like the guy heard Keith’s thoughts, because he doesn’t order doubles. It’s another one of those blue mason jars with crushed ice that Adrian brought to the table. The thing tastes enough like fruit that Keith can down it, the eyes of Stranger catching his when he does the same and suddenly it’s a competition that leaves them tied and laughing, with hiccups to boot.

“Want to get out of here?”   
“And go where?” 

Keith bits the bottom of his lip. There’s no point to this guy playing hard to get; he’s already got Keith. It makes him think then, wondering if Adrian actually called this guy up because he’s horny like Keith and looking for a one-night-stand or if Adrian just phoned him up for Keith to flirt with because he’s the Mullet’s type.

Manipulating drunks, even hotties like this one, isn’t anywhere on Keith’s levels of entertainment. He’s about to dismiss himself in hopes of hitting up the diner over on the edge of town; the one that stays open all night, when all of a sudden, the guy is blushing.   
He pulls a sheepish smile and tries again: “your place or mine?”

* * *

* * *

Outside the club is eerily quiet compared to the loud music, the constant flashing of coloured lights and hundreds of dancing bodies that jumped and crashed on the dance floor. 

The taste of alcohol is still strong on Keith’s tongue; the minty-fruity drink that Stranger bought him quick to zap his system, all the tension gone. He doesn’t even feel the cold as he steps off the curb, his quarry in tow as they half walk, half jog down a side road, away from the queuing taxis and their soon-to-be-patrons that are gathering, the numbers increasing as dawn calls for them to make their way home.

Keith’s home is close enough he doesn’t need to worry about jacket, or a taxi fare; one of the many benefits of living close to the city center. He’s idly aware he owes Adrian for tonight, but there’s no way he’s turning around now, just to slap twenty measly quid in the bloke’s hand and a slap on the back as thanks for introducing him to this kid that has shuffled his hand more comfortably into Keith’s. 

Out here, away from the lights and the pounding music; the cool air breathes sobriety into the pair of them, but that doesn’t mean either are regretting their decision. 

For Keith, it just simply means he has his wits about him as his eyes trail up and down this fine specimen that falls in step beside him.   
He’s taller than Keith, even if he’s slouching slightly; his long legs giving him an extra head of height although the man doesn’t seem to want it. He shakes off a shiver; not as numb as Keith is to the very early morning chill. Keith has no jacket to offer, so instead, he picks up the pace, knowing the promise of warmth is just a few roads away. 

They skip on the idle small talk – it’s not like they have anything to discuss – focused only on the direction in which they’re walking: down the road, under the subway, over the train tracks and through the University Dorm Estate. 

“You’re a student?” Stranger asks, footsteps stalling slightly, hand pulling back, out of the Mullet’s grasp because he’s worried Keith might be underage. The concern fits his whole personality, and the added shyness. Keith doubts this guy is really Adrian’s acquaintance, let alone friend. His choice of partners aren’t ever nice people; usually down-and-outs hooked on drugs or alcohol, or sex addicts that walk, talk and dress like a slut.   
But by the looks of this man, he might be suffering from his own addiction and sex could be the pay-out for whatever fix Adrian can hit him up with. Except this time, Keith’s the one getting payment. 

“I’m not a university student,” Keith reassures him, not skipping a beat, hand already finding the other’s, searching for the warmth to combat the early morning cold. “Straight across is just a shortcut to my place.” 

Stranger accepts the reason and they’re side by side again, pace brisk, light conversation kick-started by Stranger, who probably feels he needs to do the whole lip-service thing. Keith doesn’t really care either way, but the walk is less awkward when Stranger asks if Keith ever went to Altea University, considering he lives so close to it.   
Not one for giving too much detail, Keith ran with the story of already knowing his life plan, and using savings to move out instead of obtaining a degree like his parents wanted, because that’s easier than the whole _“couldn’t fix my life after I lost my boyfriend, so I gave up on everything and ran away, picking up whatever came easy.”_ Besides, he’s not one for giving out his life story when he’s probably not going to see this guy again. Sounds a bit shitty but it’s the truth.   
And it wasn’t like Keith didn’t have a plan. His life went to hell, and rather than sticking around, he ran to Shiro’s place, knowing his brother wouldn’t send him home, nor would he prattle on Keith’s location; as long as Keith attended college and Uni or got himself a job.

It’s been five years since joining the Ambulance service; two since relinquishing the title of _‘student’_ and one and a half since he’s moved out of Shiro’s small apartment and into his own. It’s where he’s heading now, and the pair are almost there. 

With every step up the stairs towards Keith’s room, his feeling of need is growing. It really isn’t the long since he’s had sex but right now it feels like it has been years. Probably a month, maybe two, but it’s not like Keith is counting the nights he spends alone.   
Sure, he’s got his hand, but it’s never the same. 

Adrian and Oliver would tease Keith for his lack-of bedroom activity, but it’s not that he’s been unsuccessful in pulling; it’s the fact he’s had other commitments and hasn’t got out in a while.   
Work, for a start, is always busy around Spring Term, when the kids aren’t confined to schools and they’re busy breaking bones in skate parks or on trampolines. Or it’s the college kids out getting wasted and overdosing, although they were only meant to be letting their hair down.   
Now though, school is back in session and the kids are more controlled. This won’t last, it never does, but he’s thankful for three full days of no work so he can get some ass before another twelve-hour shift in an ambulance.   
Worse still, it’s the first week that he and his partner are getting a trainee to put through the ringer. 

The key is in the lock, the door unlocks and the pair are in, quick to catch one another in their grip, mouths mashing together. Dick-face might’ve been a good kisser but he holds _nothing_ on Stranger.   
Keith focuses on the taste of mint, the lack-of cigarettes on a hot tongue that mingles with his own, dancing to a song of bodies searching for more than just lip service and wandering hands. 

Keith’s kicking his shoes off, hands on the man’s belt to give him a clue to start undressing. He does, his own shoes banging as they hit a wall or something, probably leaving a scuff mark but Keith doesn’t care because he’s about to get some and _god this man is hot._  
His shirt is off and it’s all bronze, smooth skin that doesn’t deserve to be hidden under clothes. 

The medic in Keith notes he’s thin, perhaps unhealthily so, but the beast inside him is louder and Keith’s hands are over the man’s hips, fingers hooking the man’s jeans to pull them down. They’re in the hall, tumbling back to the living room. Keith knows his bedroom is right there but he can’t pull away for long enough to make a conscious decision to head towards it.   
_Doesn’t matter,_ Stranger’s pulling him to the sofa. He sits first, pulling Keith down onto him, taking his fucking time to work off Keith’s skinny black jeans. He’s not wearing a belt or anything so it shouldn’t be hard, but still Stranger decides he’s going to take it slow, distracted again by Mullet’s tantalising kisses that land in the crook of his neck. 

Keith gives an experimental lick, humming with laughter at the shuddering of the body beneath him. “How is this going to work?” he pants, now that he’s finally out his jeans, only clad in tight black boxers that show off his ass and bulging hard-on. “You in me or me in you? I’m good with both.”   
“Whatever you prefer,” Stranger rasps, leaning forward to mash mouths together once again, the answer silenced in favour of taste. Their teeth catch but they’re just desperate for bodies; the Stranger’s restrained persona out of the window as he grabs Keith, twists, and flips him down on the sofa, on his back. 

It’s erotic the way he moves, his thighs spreading as he straddles Keith, rubbing his ass against his bulge. “Want me to ride you?”  
Keith cocked an eyebrow. “Now that’s fucking hot.” 

Stranger grinned at the praise, voice moaning when Keith reaches up to pull him back down for kisses. A hand, off the sofa, searching for his jeans, finds himself a condom that had been waiting patiently in his back pocket. Stranger takes it from him, making a sultry display of tearing it from his packaging with his teeth. He pushes back, legs over Keith’s and _here we go again with the slow undressing show._  
But Keith has to admit, it’s hot and he’s not sure how he’s even harder than before, but somehow, he fucking is. 

Stranger’s hands find Keith’s cock, palming him through the cloth of his pants, leaving Keith moaning and his legs shaking. _Fuck,_ it’s been far too long since he’s had sex. 

Whatever noises the boy makes entices Stranger further, licking his lips as he bends down, nuzzling Keith’s hard member affectionately. Keith almost, _almost,_ squeaks, head snapping upright when he feels lips on the head of his leaking dick, tongue lapping up the pre-come of cock that’s been starved of a hole to plunge into. 

Stranger allows himself a taste, every now and again glancing up to where Keith stares at him with arousal, every little moan, every strangled whine pulled from clenched lips urging the boy on. He grows confident, taking the head in his mouth, lips forming a little seal over Keith’s cock, an experimental suck before dropping back off, his tongue lapping at the underside. Keith makes a noise of distant irritation, the pressure so good, taken too soon, but all of a sudden, it’s back and _oh fucking god, this shit is good._

Keith fights the urge to buck his hips up and fuck Stranger’s mouth raw, instead relinquishing his dick to be used as a dildo, letting Stranger get a good taste. It’s all well and good until the boy decides Keith’s being too quiet where he is laid, being serviced, and adds a hand to the mix, fondling Keith’s balls. Mullet’s yelp is his reward, the pair of them breaking into laughter because of it. 

Stranger pulls his lips from Keith’s member, dragging his tongue up and down, nuzzling his nose into the neatly trimmed patch of black hair at the base, watching him through his lashes. 

Keith is addicted. 

He’s curious to how good this man will be fucking him, but before he can tell Stranger to do just that, a tight hand encircles his cock and Stranger is pulling on the condom, trapping beads of pre-come and saliva in the rubber sleeve. Keith keens this time, head snapping back to the sofa, eyes shut.   
He feels Stranger move back, closer, and they’re kissing once more, lost in the passion that neither can control their hunger for.

Heat, ardour, desire, _lust._

Keith wants more, _needs_ more and Stranger is all too happy to give himself up to be part of the cardinal feast the devours both, bodies burning, motions fluid as they touch and feel, give and take.   
Impatience pushes Keith to force the man on his back, a saliva-slicked finger probing entrance to the boy’s hole. Stranger doesn’t say no, only whimpers animalistic as the finger finds purchase inside. The movement of one finger unwinds him in a way Keith can’t describe. He’s desperate for more, prurient as he forges forward, adding a second finger in rushed madness. 

Stranger buckles beneath him, mewling to the feeling of the fingers inside him, scissoring, opening him up. Arousal twists down Keith’s spine just from the heavy, lustful look in Stranger’s eyes as the other man slides a third finger into his loosening hole.  
Oliver had joked about how people could die if they go too long without sex, and Keith knew that it was not a thing, _obviously,_ and he’s sure that this, _whatever it is_ that has Keith infatuated has nothing to do with his lack-of sex recently, but… _but fucking wow._

“You’re doing this deliberately aren’t you,” Keith growls, cursing internally for the distance between the pair and his bedside drawer that holds the lube that would make this go five times faster. He just wants to fill this boy’s hole and feel fulfilled.   
Never mind the dying thing, Keith certainly has abstained for too fucking long. 

“Maybe,” Stranger preens, the word stolen in a huff of air before he can get it all out. Keith’s only just aware he’s reaching for something, tearing his eyes from the boy beneath him to see the small bottle of lube, shoved hastily into Keith’s hand. Looks like he’s thinking the exact same thing, wanting this show to get a move on. 

Keith lets go of his cool and collected persona, as he withdraws his fingers, lathering them in enough lube that it drips down onto his knees, thankfully not the sofa. Actually, Keith doesn’t care about his sofa right now, things are going to get a lot messier from here on out. 

There is an energy surrounding this boy, and Keith feels it radiating between them and seeping into his pores, drowning him in an ecstasy he can’t quite describe. He can’t figure out what this lust is, why it’s so powerful, why it pulls at his conscious and tears it to shreds.   
Understanding comes back at the sound of a strangled yelp; Keith’s eyes widening at the sight of his cock full sheathed in boys tight, _tight_ hole.   
“God I—” Keith begins, but there’s no chance to apologise as the boy ruts down hard, releasing another noise. “Ah, ah m-more,” he says, trying to move himself, but between the sofa, Keith and all the cushions, he’s struggling.   
“More,” he says, pleasure in his tone, Keith supplying him with more with a sharp thrust of his hips. 

“Oh… oh, oh _god,”_ the boy gasps, clawing upwards at Keith bowing over him, finding purchase on the back of the sofa. Keeping Keith inside him, the Stranger takes place on top of him, settled in the boy’s lap, knees parted, thighs splayed as Keith impales the boy further.   
“I’m meant to be riding you,” he gasps, head tossed back with a slow, deliberate roll of Keith’s hips. He laughs, lips latching onto the Stranger’s exposed neck. “We can get to that later,” Keith hums, content with the way things are right now.  
And god is he content, fucking this gorgeous, beautiful, fucking addictive Adonis. 

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” Keith breathes, watching the boy’s face contort into sheer pleasure and lust, glad to see that he’s giving just as good as he’s been getting. It’s a nice stroke to his ego, not that he really cares if he’s some sex god or something, but hey, sex is give and take and this guy is setting some pretty satisfactory standards. 

Keith pushes all his way in, slow, watching for any sign of pain or dullness caused from rushing into things. _Rushing? He’s already inside the boy without stretching him out as much as he wanted,_ but Keith doesn’t hold onto his own failure, returning to the here and now, his cock sliding further into Stranger’s tight hole.

Stranger leans in, groaning into Keith’s neck in symphony to Mullet’s own noise of pleasure. He can’t help it. It just feels so damn good.   
Stranger ruts down against Keith’s hips, pulling a growl from him, arms shaking as he restrains himself from pinning the boy to the couch and fucking him until he can’t walk. 

Keith pulls back, but he doesn’t get far, Stranger chasing those lips. Bodies pushed flush together again, tension on skin as he takes control, contorting legs underneath him to rise from Keith’s dick, dropping down quickly to impale himself with a shamefully loud cry. Keith laughs at the sound, giving his hips another roll, hooked on the raspy _“fuck,_ ” the motion gives him.   
“Say that again,” he growls, tone demanding. “Fuck…” Stranger groans, the word impossible to finish as Keith fucking _slams_ into him, catching that sweet spot just right that it steals all breath from the man’s body. 

Keith continues to thrust in, skin slapping against skin, both of them totally lost to the pleasure of it all. God, he’s missed sex, this moment probably ten times better with the wait. But then, perhaps Stranger is just this good. Whatever it is, Keith is ready to dive in head first and drain the man dry. 

“Say my name,” Keith rasps, his voice dripping in a throaty commanding tone without even meaning to. But he’s glad he does, watching Stranger shudder underneath him, eyes closing under Keith’s intense stare. He rams in again. “Say my name,” he repeats, not sure where this demand is coming from, but he’s sure it’s going to send him over the edge if he hears this golden boy even whisper the word he wants to hear play across his lips. 

“K-Keith,” Stranger stutters as Keith’s cock drags against his prostate. “Fuck, Keith…”  
“Mm that’s right,” Keith purrs, body shaking as he pulls himself back from the edge. Because of his _name? Fuck._  
“Faster,” the boy pants, working himself harder as he leans in when Keith does, voice catching every time Keith changed direction of his thrusts. _In, out, in, out, in and in and in, right to the hilt._  
“Harder, harder,” he begs, keening when a hand comes to grab his neglected cock, Keith pumping slow and deliberate, thumb in his slit to stop him from coming there and then. 

He’s back in Keith’s lap again, sounds leaving their lips yet Keith can’t say with any certainty if they are intelligible words, or simply lusty noises breaking free in the moments that the pair aren’t kissing. Teeth clash countless times, but who cares, Keith doesn’t, not when he pulls back for air, arms wrapping around the man’s body, pulling him closer, dragging nails down his back.   
The noise that— _woah._ The noise that that brings is honey and glass. It’s sweet and delicate, clear in the fact this boy enjoys it enough that Keith drags his fingers up this time, nails digging in a little harder. It gets wet, panting moans and teeth clamping his lip but _“oh yes, yes, fucking yes!”_

“Coming,” Keith pants, feeling his orgasm approaching. The burning in his groin has snaked through his entire body and although he’s restraining himself from that desired pleasure, so much it’s almost poignant in manner, he can’t hold himself back any longer. Stranger is desperate to come too, stroking himself, dragging himself to the edge in deliberate pulls of his red, budding cock, hand sporadic in motion, lost to the pleasure from Keith’s rocking hips. 

Keith leans back slightly, reaching down to claim the cock in his own hand, pumping in time to his thrusts. It’s enough to make the man come, screaming Keith’s name as he coats his hand and the pair of them with his hot seed. 

“Oh _fuck_ you’re hot,” Keith moans, and then he’s coming as well, hips slowing as he releases, riding through the orgasm until he stills altogether. 

The only sounds in the dark living room is the sound of their heavy breathing, bodies still flush together. Keith shudders as he pulls his softening member from the confines of the wondrous, glorious hole, sitting back on his heels. Stranger just follows him and they’re kissing, not bothering with appraising words, happy enough with clinging to the feeling of an amazing orgasm. 

_This was fucking amazing._

Keith fucks him twice again on the couch and once on the floor after they accidently tumble between sofa and coffee table, a mess of giggles and warm kisses all over naked bodies.   
A breath of pleasure fills Keith’s lungs as Stranger’s body presses against his once again. They’ve finally made their way to the bedroom, crashing into the bed and each other like starving animals, as if they haven’t just been fucking for the past _who knows how long._

Close together, Keith really begins to appreciate their difference in height, feeling Stranger curl into him, closing the gap considerably. He watches between them as their legs slot together, burying his fingers into the boy’s hips as he positions himself over Keith’s cock, slick with lube once more, standing erect and ready for another go at that gorgeous little hole. 

Keith seriously wonders if Adrian was lying about fucking this kid, because the shit is missing out on claiming him for a sex friend.   
This poses the idea that perhaps Keith does that himself. 

Is he going to?   
_Of fucking course._

* * *

* * *

Keith threw the damp cloth to the hamper that sits beside his bedroom door, smiling to himself as he reaches down to the floor, grabbing the duvet that had been kicked off sometime after they started the second round in the bedroom. He rolls over, pulling the blanket with him, aware of the shuffling body heat beside him. Lifting his head lazily, he watches his bed partner dry-wash his face before glancing to the alarm clock on Keith’s desk, rather than hide himself under the covers. 

“Have you got somewhere to be?” Keith asks, catching the boy’s attention, fighting the pull of sleep playing heavy on his eyelids.   
The boy turns back to where Keith lays; that sheepish smile and shy demeanour once again adopted on his sculpture-like features. Or perhaps his sultry, wanton display during sex was the show and this, what Keith sees in the dawning morning light, was the true nature of the man. 

“Not really, but I should get out of your hair.”   
“Not one for cuddling then?” Keith’s back to flirting, sleep clouding his mind. He’s not surprised when the boy’s bronze cheeks are painted pink, gaze averted to somewhere on the floor. “If you’ve got nothing on today, you can chill here. You haven’t slept, so get a few hours and we’ll grab lunch afterwards. My treat, considering this was more like one of Adrian’s transactions than a casual hook-up.” 

At Adrian’s name, the boy’s eyes widened, meeting Keith’s face once again. He was slow to speak, careful to choose his words and the tone in which he spoke them. “Is he coming here later?”   
“Adrian? No. The shit doesn’t even know where I live. If he did, I’d have no food in the cupboards nor beer in the fridge.” Keith grinned to himself, knowing just how often Ai slyly asked, thinking he was sneaky when he asked Oli for his help. 

The boy nodded at Keith’s explanation, visibly relaxing. But before Keith could question it, the Stranger lay himself down, rolling over to face Keith. Still, his expression remained slightly wary. “Were you being serious about the cuddling thing?” 

It makes Keith want to laugh, but the boy’s serious tone and his own tiredness just brings a shrug and a warm smile. “Whatever you want. I like to, but if you’re not up for it, I’m not fussed.” Keith’s indifference was perhaps just what the other needed, because it doesn’t take long for him to sink into the pillows with a smile on his lips, shuffling his body to that they pair of them are close together.  
An arm reaches out, pulling Keith back into him, pressing his nose into the crook of his neck, causing a slight tingle under Keith’s skin. 

Keith hums softly nuzzling his pillow in turn, mind finally catching on a detail that’s eluded him all night. “Not to be _that guy_ or anything, but I don’t think I caught your name.”   
“No, I don’t think you did,” came an amused grin. 

“So? You going to tell me?”  
“My name’s Lance.”


	2. Similar, But Not The Same

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance. The stranger shares his name with a boy Keith once knew. But that won’t deter him from meeting up with ‘Lance’ again. Even if it brings back bad memories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so its short and that's annoyed me, but I can't seem to get it going again. Fingers crossed this is okay, but I was annoyed with it just sat on my computer, so I've uploaded it, although it still feels unfinished.  
> Hope you like it.

“My name’s Lance.” 

Lance. 

_Lance._

Lance, Lance, Lance. 

The name sparked a memory in Keith. It was a key to a door he had forcibly kept closed, now flung open and every memory flooding back in precise clarity.   
Keith’s body tensed at the sudden rush of images, his eyes firmly shut to block out melancholic nostalgia that surged with the vivid memories. He must’ve said something too because suddenly Stranger is calling out to him, a hand on his shoulder, holding himself up and moving himself away, as to give the man some space.   
“What? What is it?” he asked, voice pitching in concern, loud and worried, his kind personality showing again, caring for Keith even though they are still strangers; the only connection being Keith’s dick that had been up his ass several minutes prior. 

“Nothing. It’s okay, I’m good,” Keith said in a rush of air, shaking his head again to shake off the sudden dizziness: a side effect from being tackled by his childhood.   
He rolled over into the man’s chest, burying his face into the warmth. Stranger is hesitant to loop his arms around him again, there to offer what support he could, despite the continued worry. His body wasn’t completely relaxed; still tense where Keith pressed up against him, his eyes firmly closed. “It’s just… I haven’t heard that name in a while. It’s not one that comes with good memories.” 

The pair’s tiredness is completely gone now, all because of a bloody name. 

“Ah, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—” Keith raised an eyebrow, and his head, fixing Stran— … _Lance_ with a pointed look. His words stuttering to a halt. He looks wary, and Keith just smiles, to show him he’s not mad. “You don’t need to apologise. You’ve done nothing wrong.” And Keith means it.  
When Lance doesn’t relax into the cuddling, snugly morning after-glow, Keith props himself up on one elbow, his eyes level with his bed partner. “It’s just a name, and you weren’t to know. So take it back.”   
“Huh?”  
“Take it back. Your apology. Save it for something important.”   
The rosiness of Lance’s cheeks grew again, as a hand pulled from Keith’s hip, to lie over his own face in an attempt to hide his embarrassment. “I take it back.” He said, voice muffled, doing a really cute _looking-through-his-eyelashes_ thing that makes Keith blush too. He’s not thinking as he buries his head in the man’s chest again, humming happily when Lance pulls him closer, the notion almost completely natural as they lower themselves back into the warmth of fluffy pillows and the soft duvet. 

It’s comforting; the two of them laid there, together. Keith’s feet are pressing against Lance’s legs because they’re cold. It gets a surprised jolt and a sort of yelp to which he sniggers in the quiet. “Was that—Keith are you _purring?”_ Keith’s head snapped up, head nearly glancing off of Lance’s chin. “I don’t purr.” And although his voice is tight with fake anger, the meek, shy Lance doesn’t look guilty. “Sorry,” he laughed, pressing lips to the Mullet’s forehead. “You made a funny noise, I thought—”  
But words failed him with Keith’s glare. Still, his smile, genuine and soft, did not fall. “Sorry.”   
“Apology accepted. Now sleep. I’m tired and I want to be able to clock in at least five hours before I have to ferry my brother around tonight.”   
“Playing taxi?”  
“Yes, now shush before I rethink cuddling and make you crash on the couch.”   
“That’s fine by me, but I get to take the duvet and the pillows with me. I might even make myself a pillow fort. And I’ll eat all of your food.”

“Lance.”  
“Yeah?”  
“Shut up.”

They lapse back into comfortable quiet, Keith’s eyelids growing heavy. He always found it easier falling asleep beside another. When he sought the warmth of some beside him, it calmed him. He coveted the moments when he would be with another, to hold him and stay with him, if only for a moment. It was like he was making up for all the times he hadn’t felt this way as a child.   
Of course he was loved by his parents: he always had state of the art technology, brand name clothes, all the material wealth he could ask for. But parents that were career driven didn’t understand the importance of a bedtime story or a kiss on his brow when he was sick over a brand new smart phone or his own theatre room next to his bedroom. 

That’s probably why Keith loves skin-ship, loves the lounging that follows a fucking good fucking, making up from all the times his parents didn’t offer, when he missed the chance to be like that with _his_ ‘Lance.’ The pair of them had always been too occupied with the idea of growing up to think of their future together. 

Despite a long night out and enough whiskey to knockout an elephant, Keith still felt strangely alert. Lance was asleep, his face handsome in the morning light, a peaceful smile on his petal lips, holding similarities to a boy Keith once knew.   
He took the chance to watch him, allowing his walls to fall a little, the flood dribbling over the top, cold and foreign from where Keith had ignored his past for so long. 

_Lance.  
Lance McClain. _

The kid that had lived three roads down, the goof-ball tanned boy who was always getting into trouble in and out of school. Never without a smile or a fresh bruise; trophies from his antics of being wild and reckless.   
Keith hadn’t ever been real friends with him until their last year, when their study times clashed for exams and he’d been forced to share a desk with the boy. It had led to schoolyard bickering and a strange friendship, built on fizzy sours and a mutual hatred towards their Maths teacher.

Then came Summer.  
Keith’s family were harsh for a proper education and rules, whereas Keith was not. He just wanted to hang out with his new friends and enjoy the last season of freedom before college and homework and stuffy classrooms. They’d hit the beach, the skate parks and the cinema. The arcade would be their favourite place to gorge on cheap food and fizzy drinks that Keith’s parents would be yelling at him about rotten teeth and E numbers.  
On days when the weather was mild they’d ride their bikes for miles without jackets and safety helmets, spare change in the back of their pockets used to bribe older kids into buying them cigarettes or they’d sneak into convenience stores and steal them when the clerk wasn’t looking. 

Keith’s first kiss was on the bank of the river, he and Lance lain lazy in amongst the growing water reeds away from private eyes. They had their trousers rolled up and shoes hung of the handle bars of their bikes, drying from where they’d got too adventurous on shore.   
It was Keith’s favourite place for months afterwards, always returning, with Lance or without him, laying in the tall grass and reminiscing on the taste of strawberry bubblegum, reliving the slow, sweet moment of lips meeting, like a shared whisper between the pair of them, fingers reaching out and entwining: an unspoken promise for both of them. 

It was the Eighteenth of September when Keith hated the river bank.   
He went there that day, a bouquet of flowers, a thousand apologies and a heavy heart. He threw the flower heads into the river, shredding the petals and leaves and stems from one another; him and Lance, never to be together again.   
He didn’t cry, not for a long time. 

Instead, he dropped out of the prestigious college his parents would fawn over like it was their third child. Without a goodbye, or an explanation he packed his bags and left home. But it wasn’t like his parents didn’t know the reason.   
They’d seen him watch the news, glued to the sight of the familiar house, lined by police tape, the blue and red lights, the same footage replayed for days after Ethan McClain’s arrest. His missing son was never found, but everyone knew Ethan had murdered him. He had laughed it about it proudly in court, spewing disgusting curses to the boy’s _“affiliation”_ with the same gender.   
The news always used fancy words, glossing over the ten years of abuse Lance suffered at the hands of his drunkard father. It was a shame that their country didn’t have the death penalty. Ethan got life and a _get-out-of-jail-free_ card when illness took him eight months later. 

Keith got the reward of a jilted heart and a fear of ever loving again. But he left it all behind. Without a care, without a plan.   
The first night he spent in his car and the second in Shiro’s little apartment, crashed out on the small two-seater sofa that he slept on for the next six months until they moved into a bigger place. He didn’t want to be that weak, helpless boyfriend who didn’t understand the bruises, who couldn’t do anything to save Lance from the fate of dying at his father’s hand.   
Too much rage for Police work, Keith found another way to help and stuck to it, started saving people, started saving everyone else to make up for not saving the one he should’ve all those years ago. 

And maybe this Lance needs his help too.   
Maybe Keith couldn’t save _his_ Lance, but this one…?   
There was more to him than just kindness and a subtle meekness that vanished in the face of practised repetition. The dancing and the sex was one person, but the shyness, the uncertainty, the total lack of confidence that completely clashed with his whole being told a completely different story. One that rang to true to Lance’s. The truth written between the lines that Keith hadn’t noticed last time. But now he knew, knew the signs and knew the marks, he could see what pieces were missing in the cleverly constructed jigsaw. 

And with Keith’s sobering thoughts, he was beginning to realise just what it all pointed towards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ummm.... any good?


	3. You Share His Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So Stranger shares Keith’s previous lover’s name: Lance. He also shares similarities, and its hard to see the line between the two boys. But he’s made a promise to himself. He couldn’t save his Lance, but that doesn’t mean he can’t save this one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at you, you lucky sods. Two chapters in two days. Hope you all enjoy x

It’s one by the time Keith and Lance stir from slumber. Keith could’ve easily crashed for another three or so hours, but the warmth of the sun now shining through his bedroom window warmed the room enough to make it stuffy. And Lance, all long limbs and grabby hands, was draped up around him under the duvet, meaning if Keith didn’t get out of bed, he’d be cooked until crispy in under a minute flat. 

He’s still in the shower when a rap on the door signals Lance’s awakening. He doesn’t enter like Keith expects him too. Instead, he waits in the corridor, staring bashfully at his feet when Keith emerges, as if avoiding Keith’s _naked-body-and-small-towel_ attire. The other doesn’t tease, instead offers the shower and a quick explanation so that Lance doesn’t have to wash in either freezing or scalding temperatures. 

Other than Lance’s addition to the morning atmosphere, everything else is much the same, concerning Keith’s routine. The tv is thrown on for background noise while Keith lets the toast almost burn on the grill. Neither of the boys have dressed yet; both content to just stroll around in their boxers, although Keith does put clothes on when he starts frying eggs. Oil spit and all that. 

Lance takes the cue from him and digs at the end of the sofa for the remainder of his clothes that had been discarded there after last night’s display of wanton lust. Keith lets himself watch as he shimmies into his baggy trousers before rooting around for his belt.   
In the afternoon light, Keith has full view of the boy’s thin body. He’s not anorexic, but the protrusion of his collar bone is something that clicks in Keith’s mind. He can count each bone that stack Lance’s spine, and when the boy lifts his arms, holding out the trousers to make sure there are no stains, Keith can count his bottom three ribs.   
It’s not just that though. There are scars in particular places, rings of marks around each protruding bone, as if Lance had been slammed into something hard. There are smaller, circular scars that resemble cigarette burns. Keith’s seen enough with victims at work to know what they are without having to ask. 

All of it is partially disguised on a gentle veil of hickies and bruises where Keith got desperate in his need to hold the other, his grasp too tight as he pinned Lance to the bed, drilling him as he screamed— 

“Ah man. I liked this top too.”   
Lance had found his poor excuse for a t-shirt, holding up the tie-dye to the light, revealing the huge tear right down the front. _Ah shit,_ Keith really had been rough last night. He hadn’t even noticed.   
“You can have one of mine,” he offers. “It’s the least I can do.” But Keith’s suggestion seems out of the question, Lance bringing the shirt to his chest, eyes wide. “No, no it’s fine, I’ll make do, I don’t want to impose.” He takes a step back, blush on his cheeks, eyes on the floor.   
It’s a weak display of submission, instinctually done even though Keith hasn’t done anything to suggest he’d hurt him. 

Keith felt his heart squeeze in his chest. He wanted to say something, but knew speaking too early would scare Lance away. He’d made that mistake too many times when at work. He needed trust, a relationship. Sex friends would be the basis, if Lance agreed, if not…. Well, Keith wasn’t going to give up without a fight.   
So instead, he simply lifted an eyebrow, tone soft but teasing. “So what then? You’ll just leave here bare chested? Showing off all those hickies?”   
Lance looks himself over, a blush creeping from his ears to his cheeks as if he hadn’t noticed just how many love bites Keith had gifted him with. 

“I… I guess I can borrow a t-shirt,” he says slowly. Keith nods, happy. He turns before he can open his mouth and tell Lance not to be so jumpy around him, that he wasn’t going to hurt him. He wasn’t like the person that burnt him. 

The rest of the afternoon is spent crashed on the couch, watching random stuff on the tv and sharing light conversation. Keith makes sure not to make anything too personal, or to ask questions that would border on nosey. It’s all to build trust between them.   
Keith isn’t too concerned about not asking Lance today about a continued relationship – body’s only – seeing as he’s a friend of a friend of Adrian’s. Keith can just ask him for another hook up and ask Lance next time.   
So he relaxes and settles into idle conversation about this that and whatever. 

Shiro rings Keith at quarter past five, telling him he’s fine for a lift, Coran needs to head into town so he’s driving. That leaves the evening free to order pizza for the pair of them as they continue their debate on the new Marvel Superhero team. It’s childish, but its relaxed and its not that personal, so talking is easy.   
But when Lance says Deadpool is the best, hands down, completely ignoring Keith’s solid argument towards his favourite friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man, he throws a pillow. It hits Lance square in the face, leaving him spluttering, wide eyes and something else as he looks to Keith, bellowing with laughter. He doesn’t see the incoming projectile, leaving him defenceless to fend off the sudden storm of pillows thrown at him. Lance runs out of ammunition, so throws himself, joining Keith on his side of the sofa, where suddenly pizza and play fighting is forgotten in favour of hands and kissing and de-clothing. 

“Not sated from last night?” Keith teases. Lance blushes, pulling back, but Keith won’t let him, locking his legs around the boy’s back to keep him close. “Cus’ I’m not. I don’t think I could ever have enough of you.” Lance blush deepens, but he’s stopped pulling away, and once again they’re back to their dance of cardinal desire. 

Keith flips them, so Lance is on his back on the sofa, leaving a trail of kisses from neck to navel, mouthing at soft skin, listening to Lance’s moans as he buries his fingers in Keith’s long hair. The grip was enough to halt Keith’s movements, looking up to the slight frown of furrowed brows and teeth biting his lip. He said nothing, letting the question hang silently in the air.

All it took was one word from Lance.   
“Please.” 

Keith’s finger slipped under the band of Lance’s trousers. Under the band of his underwear. He gently tugged at them both, guiding them downwards. Lance planted his feet on the sofa and lifted his hips up so that Keith would have an easier time getting them off. Once the trousers and boxers were halfway down his legs, he relaxed back into the couch, lifting up his feet a little so that they could be taken off entirely. They dropped to the floor with little grace, just as they had been discarded last night. 

With Lance now bare and waiting, Keith pressed a kiss to his inner thigh. Lance’s breath hitched at the motion, but it was nothing to the soft keening moans he sang when Keith wrapped a hand around the base of his cock and ran his tongue over the tip. He licked down the underside, tantalisingly slow, and back up again. 

It was nothing like the night before.   
Yesterday was all passion and lust, like two starving beasts trying to devour one another in an attempt to sate their lust. Yet tonight was entirely different. When Keith held Lance, he held him gently. Be it the burns that cemented his suspicion or the warmth in his chest when Lance cried out the boy’s name and he his…

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Once again it is Keith who wakes first.  
But instead of freeing himself from the confines of Lance’s arms, Keith remains, staring up at the face of a boy who shares the name of his first love. It’s not just his name that he shares, but other things too. Like how he cuddles a pillow when he sits on the couch, or how he isn’t fond of wearing anything on his feet. He has a thing about it being too warm, like Lance, and he doesn’t appreciate silence, like Lance and Keith alike.  
But with every similarity Lance shares, there are many differences. Keith’s Lance didn’t care for pineapple pizza. Keith’s Lance didn’t have much of an interest in superheroes, and barely knew their names let alone have enough knowledge to counter the arguments Keith put forward when debating the strongest team.

Keith’s Lance is cocky and confident and loud.   
He isn’t shy and quiet and meek and… _alive._

Sleep won’t come for Keith. He lays beside Lance, listening to him breathe, trying to take comfort in his warmth, but all it does is remind him that his Lance is dead. It’s too much, and so he refuses to remain there.   
Back in the living room, wearing joggers and a loose jacket, Keith thumbs his phone, wondering who to call. Calling Hunk wouldn’t work, the big guy barely stayed up past ten. None of Keith’s other friends were ones he’d open up like this too, leaving only one other. 

The call connected sooner than Keith expected, but he was happy to hear the tired voice speak. “Hello?”  
“Shiro, it’s me.”   
“Keith? What are you doing? It’s… shit Keith, it’s midnight. Haven’t you got a shift tomorrow? What are you doing up?” Keith smiled to the darkness. He used to hate Shiro’s worry for him, but after Lance’s passing, he realised Shiro was one of the few people who genuinely cared. And always would. 

“I met someone Shiro.” A pause, and then, “Keith, if you’re ringing me up to brag—”  
“His name is Lance.” 

_Silence._

“Keith—”  
“He reminds me so much of him Shiro. He’s the same, but not, but then no one is the same as they were when they were a child.” It’s pointless hope that stole Keith’s mind and spewed words he had barred from entering his conscious. But hope makes a person do funny things. Even wishing their lover wasn’t dead. 

“Keith—”  
“They’re similar Shiro. There’re times where they act the same, when they say the same things, when—”  
“Keith.” Shiro cuts him off, his voice stern, yet soft. “Keith, Lance died. You _know_ that. His father murdered him. He told the police, the court, the media.”

“He’s gone Keith.” 

Keith dropped his head to his hands, wiping back tears. “I left him,” he whispered, not meaning to speak, but speaking nonetheless. “It’s not your fault,” Shiro began, but Keith just kept talking. “I left him. I left him there and he died, Shiro. His dad came in and saw us together. And I just left. So tell me, how is it not my fault?” Keith wasn’t shouting, but he was close to. Voice taut, hands in fists, eyes streaming with tears that had spilled from the top of the flood gates.   
Seven years of bottling up everything hadn’t let the scars heal, nor starve the monsters. Yet anger was an emotion Keith had learnt to control. A deep breath, and he let it all go.

“I know he’s not my Lance. I know, but some part of me can’t see past the delusion that he might be. It’s not logical, but I can’t help but hope.”   
“I know Keith. We all wish Lance was alive, you more than any of us. You haven’t stopped loving him, which is why you see him in others. And this person you met… he shares his name.”  
“And his story too.”   
“What do you mean?” Shiro doesn’t understand, but Keith isn’t too sure. He knows little of Lance’s story other than the writing on his skin and the tensing when Keith moves too quick. “I’m not sure yet. Sorry Shiro, for waking you.”  
“I don’t mind Keith. Just… take it easy, okay? And if you’re finding it hard at work, just let Felicity know. She’ll grant you time to get back on your feet.” Keith nodded, but remembering Shiro couldn’t see him, assured him that he would, that he’d tell Hunk as well, so that his partner knew that Keith was a little shaken.   
They said their “goodnights” and Keith returned to the bedroom. 

Lance was hugging Keith’s pillow.   
Just like Keith’s Lance used to.

**Author's Note:**

> Make sure you’ve subscribed for upload notifications – because you know me and my shitty ability to keep to an upload schedule. I’m aiming for a once a month (possibly week if you’re lucky and my life doesn’t encroach on my writing time) but there are no promises (sorry again).  
> Don’t forget that the Glossary is the next work and the third in the series is the starting comic. Check it out if you fancy! And thanks for reading x
> 
> Also, if you enjoyed this and fancied checking out my other stuff, there are more Klance fics, ultimate Langst fics, a little Shance and then a treasure trove of one shots in the series "Altean Bedtime Stories" which I’m collecting prompts for, so if you want to throw me a pairing, a title or a prompt – in the comment section – I would GREATLY appreciate it!!!  
> Also, prompts aren’t restricted to Voltron. If there’s anything you want me to have a go at, throw the idea my way and I shall try not to butcher it!
> 
> I've finally set myself up a "Buy Me A Coffee" page, so if you want to support me, motivate me, or just keep me awake with caffeine, then at is all graciously accepted! Remember, [ dragon's love coffee too!](https://www.buymeacoffee.com/5luohPY3v)
> 
> Much love xxx


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